


Anffafriol

by PhilTrashNo164



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Angst, Asexual Phil Lester, Depressing as hell (sorry), Gay Dan Howell, M/M, seriously why is everything I write full of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 15:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14572329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhilTrashNo164/pseuds/PhilTrashNo164
Summary: I know everyone in this village, you say. Never seen you around here before.--You wanted the one thing I couldn’t provide, and I was repelled by the only thing you still cared about. We were polar opposites.Didn’t stop me from falling for you, did it?





	Anffafriol

**Merthyr Mawr, Bridgend, Wales. May 1984.**

 

_I know everyone in this village_ , you say. _Never seen you around here before_.

 

Somehow you say it in a way that doesn’t feel hostile, I don’t know how.

 

_Maybe I just hate this cafe_ , I suggest. _Maybe that’s why you’ve never seen me_.

 

You don’t smile. For some reason that disappoints me. I like making people smile, I guess.

 

_You’re not from here_ , you say, and again somehow you don’t make that sound unfriendly. _Who are you? Why are you_ here _?_

 

That last word is said with a kind of amazement, like you can’t believe anyone would voluntarily choose to be in a place like this.

 

_I like it here_ , I say. You snort at that.  

 

_Your order?_ you ask. _Not to be rude, but you’re holding up the queue, you know._

 

I start, turn around, but there’s no-one behind me. You snicker. I turn back to you. _Tea, please,_ I say. _Oh, and two Welsh cakes. I can’t not try them,_ I say, _whilst I’m here_. I hand you too many coins, remember your earlier questions, say that _I’m no-one, I’m just passing through_.

 

You hand my change back to me, laugh. It’s a dimpled laugh. I know from that moment that I’d do anything to cause that laugh again. _People don’t just “pass through” a place as dull as this_ , you say. And you doubt that I’m “no-one”. _In fact_ , you say, leaning in, _you’re most definitely a “someone” - a someone I want to take to bed._

 

I swallow at that, look around.

 

_You don’t look a day over 16_ , I think to myself. _And I’m only 20. What you’re suggesting is illegal, it’s-_

 

_There’s one customer in this whole fucking cafe_ , you say, rolling your eyes, and my eyes snap back to yours (and I blush at your cursing, though it sounds almost poetic in that Welsh accent you have) _\- and he’s upstairs and practically deaf. No one heard me, don’t worry._

 

And then you stare at me, biting your lip. _Seriously though,_ you go on, _I finish work at 3, if you’re interested._

 

I stare at counter, anything to avoid your eyes. _That’s not really my scene_ , I say.

 

And at that, it was as if I’d covered you in ice. _I’m sorry for reading the signs wrong_ , you say. But you don’t _sound_ sorry. I’m surprised you don’t spit in my face, or my tea. You hand me my Welsh cakes, my cup of tea that I hadn’t even noticed you making, and I can feel the hatred rolling off you.

 

_Wait_ , I say, panic starting to kick in, _I didn’t mean_ -

 

You vault over the counter, storm upstairs. I stare at those stairs until I know my tea is getting cold, but still you don’t come down. It sounds like you’re kicking the chairs over up there, or something. Good thing you’re the only member of staff here, that that customer is deaf. Eventually I sigh and go and sit down at a table, sipping lukewarm tea and picking at a Welsh cake.

 

_Nice going, Phil,_ I think to myself. _You’ve only been here for an hour, and you’re getting on so well with the locals._

 

I thought I’d never see you again. But we crossed paths again only hours later.

 

Some people would say, _small town, of course you’re going to bump into each other_.

 

Me, though? I kinda thought it was fate.

 

*

 

_Aren’t you a little young to be drinking that?_ I ask.

 

You freeze, beer halfway to mouth, watch me sit down next to you on another bar stool with a look of complete disgust.

 

_What, you think I should be having some apple juice, do you?_ you spit.

 

Oh, there’s acid in your voice. I force a smile, take a sip of my drink, hope you’ll let it go, thinking, _I didn’t mean to offend you, I just-_

 

But you go on: _You think I should be in bed by 8:30, having done some homework like a good little boy, that I should be out chatting up girls instead of cooped up alone in here, where the bartender knows better than to ask questions, that I definitely shouldn’t be thinking right now about tracing your hip bones with my tongue?_

 

I try to ignore that last part. _You’re not alone,_ I say. _You’ve got me._

 

_Fantastic_ , you say. _You’re_ just _what I need in my life._

 

_I’m studying English at university,_ I say, trying to smother the hurt your sharp words have inflicted. _How about you, what are you doing?_

 

_Wishing for death_ , you mutter, downing the rest of your beer, thumping a fist on the counter to signal to the bartender that you want another.

 

I’m unsure how to react to what you just said. I just laugh, hoping you’re joking.

 

You don’t look like you’re joking.

 

_Why are you in this shit-hole?_ you ask. I blink. Are you making _conversation_?

 

_This pub, or-_ I begin, but you cut me off-

 

_This_ place, you say, rolling your eyes. _There’s nothing to do here, no one to meet-_

 

_I’ve met you_ , I interrupt. _You’re great_.

 

You stare at me for a few seconds, say slowly _You know, for a straight guy, you sure are a fucking pansy-_

 

_I’m-not-straight_ , I say, in one rush of breath. _I don’t know what I am, I-_

 

_How difficult can it be?_ you say, looking at me like I’m extremely stupid. _You either like one or the other-_

 

_Well, I don’t like either,_ I snap, the words coming out harsher than I intend them to.

 

_Good for you,_ you say, after a pause. _The world is full of bastards. You’re better off alone._

 

_I don’t want to be alone_ , I whisper, more to myself than anything else, but you hear me anyway, and there’s something in your eyes that says _Go on, keep talking_. So I do. _I want those nighttime-walks and those sharing-hot-chocolates and those sleepy-early-morning-kisses_ , I say, staring into my drink. _I just don’t want all the, you know, uh-_

 

_The shagging?_ you suggest. I nod, cheeks aflame.

 

_Well, that’s_ all _I want,_ you say, _so, sorry, I don’t think we’re compatible, after all, um-_

 

_Phil,_ I supply.

 

_Sorry, Phil,_ you say. _Looks like we’re destined not to be together._

 

_What’s_ your _name?_ I ask, pushing down more hurt, ridiculous hurt, hurt I have no right to be feeling, because I barely even know you, I don’t even know your name-

 

_It’s Dan_ , you say. _Dan Howell._ _See you around, Phil._

 

You get up and leave, just like that.

 

I nurse my drink, suddenly exhausted. I came here for a holiday, some time away.

 

I laugh to myself - I came for a break, and I got one, didn’t I?

 

_Heartbreak_. Over a boy I’ve known for about two hours, a boy who wants a guy who can satisfy him in the bedroom, not some freak who-

 

I swallow the rest of my drink, demand another.

 

_Pull yourself together, Phil_ , I think to myself. _He’s no-one_.

 

But even back then I knew that I was lying to myself about that.

 

*

 

I’m stumbling the wrong way back to my hotel in the early hours of the morning when I see you again.

 

There you are, in some creepy alleyway, a man kneeling in front of you, your back braced against the wall, mouth open, panting-

 

At first I’m too innocent to piece together what’s happening. I stare at your flushed face, your hands gripping the man’s hair, the man’s bald spot-

  
It clicks into place.

 

_Hey!_ I shout at the man. _He’s just a kid, leave him alone, you pervert!_

 

Both of you look round at that. You’re still breathing heavy, eyes glazed over, but the man isn’t so incapacitated. _That your boyfriend?_ he sneers, getting up and wiping his mouth.

 

_Wait,_  you say weakly, _wait, I, he isn’t-_

 

But he’s gone. Your eyes lock onto mine.

 

You make no move to cover yourself. I blush for the third time since we’ve met. Quite impressive, really.

 

_Cockblocker_ , you whisper, but there’s no heat behind it.

 

_I’ll walk you home_ , I say.

 

You zip up your trousers. _You must be the only man on the planet who says that without hoping for a shag once we get to my door, Phil,_ you say. I try to smile.

 

_That’s me_ , I say, thinking, _I wish it wasn’t_.

 

*

 

You say nothing for the fifteen minute walk back to your house, and I say nothing either, though my head’s full of worries and concerns and lectures about _not going hooking up with men twice as old as you, Dan, what were you thinking, you could get hurt, Dan, you could get HIV, you could die-_

 

But I don’t think you want to hear that. You’re not stupid. You knows the risks.

 

Which begs the question: what made you seek such destructive, empty affairs? Why aren’t you looking for love?

 

You weren’t going to tell me anything anytime soon, I knew that. You were a closed book, No Entry, You May Not Proceed.

 

You kiss me goodbye at your door. _Thanks_ , you whisper.

 

Thanks for what?

 

I press a finger to my lips, and, by the time I can speak, you are gone.

  


*

 

_God, I can’t catch a break with you, can I?_ you say the next morning, smiling at me over the pile of books in your arms.

 

Smiling at me. That makes a nice change.

 

_Come here often?_ I ask. I’ve already forgotten what book I came in to buy. It’s like I notice you, and everything else just fades away.

 

(that’s dangerously sentimental, but I’m fine, really. I know nothing’s going to happen between us, and I’m cool with it, honestly - OK, maybe I’m lying a little)

 

Your smile gets wider. _I practically_ live _here, Phil,_ you say, gesturing to the books that surround us. _Give me a book over the TV any day._

 

_Is that Jane Eyre you’ve got there?_

 

_Nothing wrong with Charlotte Bronte_ , you say, a little defensively. _What, you think it’s a girl’s book?_

 

_I-_ I begin, but then you soften, suddenly. _Let’s get lunch,_ you say.

 

And I’m helpless to say no.

 

*

 

_I’m getting the 5 o’clock train,_  I say. _I was only staying for the weekend._

 

_This is a weird place to go on holiday,_ you say, in between bites of sandwich. And then, out of nothing, you say _I enjoy spending time with you, Phil_.  _You’ve become the closest thing I’ve come to a friend._

 

It warms me, that you’ve said that, even though you say it sadly.

 

_We can stay friends_ , I say, suddenly desperate. _You can visit me at uni, and_ -

 

_Phil_ , you say softly, covering my hand with your own, _we both know that’s never going to happen._

 

And I nod, because it’s true.

 

*

 

I see your name in the papers a few years later.

 

_Everything OK, Love?_ my wife says, looking up from the bacon she’s frying and shooting me a concerned look.

 

_Fine_ , I say. _It’s just - I knew this boy once, when I was younger, and he’s - he’s dead._

 

She peers over my shoulder, looks at the obituary page I’m reading. _21 years old?_ she says. _How awful._ Then her nose wrinkles. _Do you think it was_ \- a whisper - _AIDS? Do you think he was one of those-_

 

_It was probably a car crash, or something,_ I say shakily, closing the paper.

 

I’d thought about you a lot, you know, over the years. There were times when I first got back from Merthyr Mawr that I thought I saw you everywhere I went. When I was lonely, it was you I imagined holding in my arms.

 

I grew out of it eventually, found a girl who thought I was 100% heterosexual, and I didn’t go correcting her. I learnt to conform, to hide who I was.

 

I’m happy enough.

 

I can picture you saying something like _you have to live your truth, Phil, don’t live a lie_ , but you’re not here to make sure I go through with that, so...

 

_Were you happy, too, Dan?_ I think to myself.

 

_Maybe, in an alternate universe, we could have worked out._

 

But it never does well to dwell on thoughts like that.

**Author's Note:**

> this was heavily inspired by legdab’s Love Is The End, though that’s set in the 60s. I wanted to write one of d&p as being ace, too, and look what happened, ANGST (is anyone really surprised?) 
> 
> The formatting of the dialogue was inspired by The_Blonde’s wonderful fic: (missing me one place, search another) i stop somewhere waiting for you. 
> 
> I highly suggest you read both. 
> 
> (I’ll try and write something happier in the future)


End file.
